


Who knows where the time goes

by sweetfire



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Boys In Love, Canon verse, Domestic Bliss, Engagement, Established Relationship, Fluff, Grinding, Hair Washing, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Not Season 8 compliant, POV Shiro (Voltron), Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Purring Keith (Voltron), Semi-Public Grinding, Shiro's PTSD, Slice of Life, Smitten Shiro (Voltron), shiro is in love, showering together, that's it that's the fic, they take care of each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29233308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetfire/pseuds/sweetfire
Summary: Things are simple, here: The world is kind, and Keith is beautiful, and Shiro’s in love.Four times Shiro thinks about forever with Keith.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 86





	Who knows where the time goes

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, Shiro’s in love bigtime, and these are reflections on that fact across the progression of their relationship, one for each season. This is just my excuse to write Shiro being extremely in love with no plot so he can just stare at Keith and think about how wonderful he is for 8k. 
> 
> Title & lyrics from “Who Knows Where the Time Goes?” by Fairport Convention

_And I am not alone while my love is near me_  
_I know it will be so until it's time to go_  
_So come the storms of winter and then_  
_The birds in spring again_  
_I have no fear of time_

_For who knows how my love grows?_  
_And who knows where the time goes?_

***

_Summer_

The desert is familiar, its dry heat and red rocks and sand something Shiro hasn’t forgotten, even after careening across the universe to see places and things he never could have imagined the last time he was here, young and naïve and looking towards his future.

Now, he’s looking to his future again, in a way – but it’s standing right beside him, instead of somewhere far beyond the sky.

The cabin is less familiar. Shiro’s been here before, to the lonely place Keith calls home, but the memories are dim, and not ones he’s particularly wanted to return to. Now, when he’s here in better circumstances, he has more of a chance to be curious, to take things in.

It’s small, dusty from its disuse over the past few years, and pretty bare – save for the board Keith had up when he was searching for him; they left so quickly that he didn’t have a chance to take it down. But it still provides some little clues into Keith’s life, things Shiro doesn’t yet know. He’s standing still in the corner, trying very hard not to pry, or do anything that might make Keith feel like his privacy is being invaded. He knows Keith can be sensitive about that, and he always tries to respect it, to avoid setting off any of Keith’s internal alarms. He’s gotten pretty good at it, by now.

While he watches, Keith shuffles through things, cleaning up a little and discovering things he forgot he even had in the process. He knows that this was Keith’s father’s cabin, where they lived together before he died, but that’s about it. He’s not sure what memories Keith has of this place, and his father, if any, and if they’re ones he looks back on fondly or if they cause him pain. He wants to know. Wants to know everything about Keith, as long as Keith is willing to tell him. He’s starting to think maybe someday he will be.

Once Keith has arranged the place to his liking, or at least enough to suffice for their stay, they move outside to survey the property, figure out what needs to be fixed up after all this time left vacant, and even more time before that only barely attended to.

The sun is hovering low in the sky, hinting at a spectacular sunset that hasn’t quite yet begun. Shiro forgot how much of the open sky you can see, how far the horizon stretches, here in the desert. Some of the intense afternoon heat has faded as the sun sinks to a lower angle, and there’s a pleasant, warm breeze that cools him when it blows over the sweat at the back of his neck.

They’re hunched down in the sand next to each other, examining the building’s foundations, when Shiro broaches the subject that’s been on his mind since Keith asked him to come here with him, shortly after they arrived back on Earth for good.

“So, are you thinking this is where you want to live, now that we’re back?”

Keith shrugs, and doesn’t meet Shiro’s eyes. “Well, I mean. I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

It strikes a sharp pain into Shiro’s chest to hear him say that. To know that he doesn’t know that Shiro would always, gladly have Keith with him, that he would be overjoyed to give Keith anything, everything.

“You know you always have a place on the Atlas. And I don’t know where I’m going to end up either, or any of the others, but we would all be happy to have you.”

Keith makes a noncommittal noise, and Shiro doesn’t push him.

The one thing he seems particularly excited about having back is his hoverbike. Amazingly, even after being left out in the heat and dust for all this time, all it needs is a bit or tinkering before it’s starting up again with a whir. It puts a spark in Keith’s eye that Shiro hasn’t seen there in a long time.

“Want to take her for a spin?” he suggests. He’s tired; he’s sure they both are, after the whirlwind of returning to earth amidst all the fanfare and publicity and then heading straight here together. But he wants to leap on that spark when he sees it, nurture it and fan its embers brighter.

Keith seems to consider for a moment, chewing on his lower lip. But then the breeze picks up and blows through his hair, whipping the strands off his forehead and cheeks, and he closes his eyes and lifts his face into it, and he smiles.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

Shiro has to do a double-take – he just meant for Keith to go, figured he’d just wait here and give Keith some time to himself, but Keith’s already swinging a leg over the bike and holding a spare helmet out towards Shiro expectantly.

He situates himself behind Keith carefully, suddenly mindful of not getting too close. It’s a bit different, being in plain civilian clothes instead of space suits and armor, less of a barrier between them. But when he’s put his helmet on and settled with his hands clutching the seat behind him, hoping that will be enough to keep him from flying off with Keith’s… _enthusiastic_ driving tendencies, Keith cranes back to eye him with an extremely skeptical look.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Shiro blinks at him like he doesn’t know what he’s referring to. Keith glances down to Shiro’s hands, clenched white-knuckled around the seat, and then his eyes narrow. It’s a dangerous look. A good one. It makes Shiro’s heart speed up and leap with excitement, a simpler feeling than he’s had in a long time. Fun for the sake of fun. It feels like a bit of a foreign concept now, one they both could use.

“You’re going to want to hold on tighter than that for this,” he warns with a smirk, and Shiro moves his hands with only a moment of hesitation to Keith’s waist instead, settling splayed wide on either side of his ribs. He only barely gets time to heed the warning before Keith’s revving the hoverbike once and then leaning forward and launching it into action.

They take off fast, and Shiro’s grip gets reflexively tighter. The desert here is flat and wide, relatively uninterrupted land that allows them to really pick up speed. When Shiro dares to look down, he sees the red sand and rocks flying by underneath them in a blur. Ahead of them, the horizon grows closer and spreads out wider, and Keith just…lets go.

Shiro sends out silent thanks to the designers of this machine, because the hoverbike is quiet enough, even at this speed, for Shiro to hear the way Keith whoops and laughs, carried on the wind. It’s the best sound Shiro’s ever heard. He’ll do anything to hear it again. Keith throws his head back, lets the wind whip the hair that escapes from his helmet, like he’s relishing it. There’s no destination in mind, so Keith just keeps his target on the sun. It feels like they’re chasing the sunset.

They’re rapidly approaching a mesa, and Shiro’s hands clench around Keith’s ribs to reaffirm his grip, his pulse climbing higher and higher as they careen straight towards it until Keith cuts just to the side of it and then pulls them around it in a tight loop. Shiro lets out a breathless laugh himself, a sharp, ticklish swoop in his belly. It’s the good kind of adrenaline, the fun kind – because he’s not fighting for his life on an alien planet, and he’s in such capable hands, ones that he trusts.

He wishes he had a better view of Keith’s face, wants to see the smile he catches a glimpse of in the swell of Keith’s cheek, see how bright his eyes are, how beautiful.

Shiro can’t believe they never did this, back before everything. Keith’s having so much _fun_ ; he’s so free, in his element. There’s no tenseness beneath Shiro’s hands, nothing held back in the way he laughs and shrieks at his own recklessness. It’s a side of him Shiro hasn’t really quite seen before, a new bit of information to file away in the ever-growing section of his brain that’s entirely dedicated to the subject.

He hopes he never stops learning new things about Keith.

Keith brings them to a stop when the sun is setting in earnest, throwing wide swathes of brilliant golds and pinks across the sky. It’s a particularly dramatic one, like the sun is showing off, welcoming them home.

Keith turns off the bike and dismounts when it sinks to the ground, knocking up a little cloud of rust-colored dust. He pulls his helmet off and shakes out his hair, and Shiro stares blatantly. There’s no hope of stopping himself.

They’re both breathing heavily from the rush. Shiro can’t help the way his eyes trail down to Keith’s chest, heaving with his breath as he tries to catch it. His eyes are just as bright as Shiro hoped they would be. There are stars in them. There are probably stars in Shiro’s, too.

Keith turns and looks to the fiery sky, taking a few aimless steps towards the horizon. Shiro gets off the hoverbike to follow him. When he comes up next to him, he almost has to take a step back, because seeing him up close is overwhelming. His hair is wild and his cheeks windswept and red, and he turns a smile on Shiro that’s so, so wide.

“This was a great idea,” he says, still a little breathless in a way that makes Shiro have to swallow thickly. “Thank you for suggesting it.”

Shiro nods, too stunned for words. The sunset is setting Keith’s skin aglow.

He’s in love.

Keith gives a satisfied sigh and watches the horizon. After a minute of silence, Keith watching the sunset and Shiro watching Keith, he frowns a little and lays a hand on his stomach.

“I’m hungry.”

Shiro is too, now that he mentions it.

“There definitely isn’t anything in that house right now that’s safe for human consumption…” Keith looks across the land thoughtfully, squinting his eyes. “There are a few places along the highway not too far from here…I could really go for Waffle House.”

Shiro hums agreeably. “I’ve never had it, but sure.”

What he’s not expecting is for Keith to turn on him with a completely scandalized, moderately horrified look. “You’ve never had Waffle House?!”

“…Um. No?”

“ _Shiro_ , what – how – oh my god.”

It’s so not something he would expect Keith to be passionate about, and Keith looks so genuinely distressed to learn that Shiro’s never had it, that he can’t help the way he bursts into laughter, doubling over and clutching his stomach.

“That settles it; we’re fixing this, immediately.”

Keith grabs him by the elbow and marches him back to the bike while he’s still trying to catch his breath, his laughter trailing behind him.

Shiro has sparklers going off in his chest.

It’s incredibly gratifying to see Keith like this, so vibrant and carefree and alive. And to know that Keith feels comfortable enough to share it with him, this special moment, to allow him to see the private little bits and pieces of his life here that Shiro knows he keeps close and protected…it warms him from the core, a hopeful, grateful thing.

He’s so incredibly lucky to be trusted by this whirlwind of a man.

The hoverbike whirs and lifts off the ground, and Keith shoots him a mischievous look over his shoulder as fair warning before they’re taking off, zipping across the sand. Shiro will let Keith take him wherever he wants to go. The sun inches below the horizon and sinks them into darkness, and Keith’s hair is whipping back into Shiro’s face, stinging his cheeks, and for a moment, he lets himself think that this feels like the beginning of something. Something he could get used to.

***

_Autumn_

“Does it rain a lot here?”

Shiro startles a little at Keith’s question, even though his voice is quiet. He must have dozed off a little when he meant to just give himself a few more minutes to rest his eyes. He rolls over in the bed to see Keith standing at the large windows of their hotel room, watching the rain coming down outside. It’s a grey morning, the light filling the room soft and pale.

Shiro rubs a hand over his face and hums, trying to get his neurons firing again. “Depends on the season. Summer is the wettest.”

It’ll be a few moments more before he can convince himself to leave the bed, but Keith’s familiar silhouette against the window is a strong draw. Shiro situates himself on his side for an easier view, rests his cheek on the back of his hand and smiles to himself.

“More than Arizona, though; that’s for sure,” he teases. “Are you sure you’ll be able to handle it?”

Keith half-turns to shoot him a glare, with a telltale smirk curling the corner of his lips. Shiro’s smile grows, as does the happy warmth in his stomach. With a dismissive grunt, Keith rolls his eyes and turns back to his occupation.

It’s their first time in Japan together, and Shiro hopes Keith likes it. He’s a little nervous, to be honest, bringing Keith for the first time to his home. But he knows there’s really nothing to be nervous about.

When he can’t resist any longer, Shiro drags himself out of the bed and pads across the carpeted floor to join Keith at the windows. He shivers a little at the air prickling at his bare skin, only covered by his boxers. Keith has the right idea – he’s wrapped in one of the robes the hotel provided for them, something silk and light but luxuriously soft and comfortable. The sight of him does something to Shiro. Keith _always_ does something to Shiro, but morning-Keith is a special brand of lovely. There’s something about him, tranquil and relaxed, a little more vulnerable in those tender morning hours.

His hair is rumpled from sleep, getting long now. Shiro doesn’t like to influence Keith’s decisions, but he secretly hopes he keeps growing it out.

Keith melts back into his chest when Shiro comes up behind him, wraps his arms loosely around him and presses a good-morning kiss to the side of his head. His eyes when he leans his head back onto Shiro’s shoulder to look up at him are so plainly in love that it traps Shiro’s breath in his throat.

“Hi,” he says softly.

“Hi,” Shiro smiles back.

Keith is holding a cup of coffee, cradled in both palms, and he brings it up to his lips for a sip as he turns back to the window, then offers it up to Shiro, who takes it gratefully. Keith keeps a hand on the ceramic, tilts it a little into Shiro’s mouth for him. The liquid warms his throat, and he makes an appreciative noise, leaning down to take Keith’s lips in a coffee-flavored kiss.

It strikes him, sometimes, how amazing it is that they’re able to have this easy domesticity, that Keith already feels so comfortable with him that they act like they’ve been together for years, even when it’s only been a few months. They already have their own patterns, their routines, their ways of integrating so perfectly into each other’s lives. Maybe because they spent so long reaching towards this, too afraid to grab for it.

Keith settles in in Shiro’s hold, and for a while they just stand there like that, watching the raindrops crawl down the glass in their scattered, unpredictable paths. Shiro noses into Keith’s hair, smells his shampoo. It’s so quiet, nothing but the tap of the rain and the occasional slurp of coffee.

“Did you sleep well? Think you’ll be over the jetlag enough to go explore today?”

Keith nods. Their tentative plan for today is to visit a botanical garden in the city, though they’ll need the rain to let up a bit for that to happen. Not that Shiro would mind being holed up inside with Keith all day.

“Shower first?” Keith asks.

Shiro splurged a little on a nice hotel for this trip, kind of wanted to show off for Keith when bringing him to his home, so the shower is fancy, good water pressure and special patterns programmed into the showerhead and, crucially, big enough for two.

They’re not in any hurry, so they take their time to enjoy it, to gently introduce themselves to the waking world. It’s warm, and Keith’s skin is all bare and covered in water droplets, a worthy temptation. Shiro allows himself to kiss a few of them off of his shoulders, but he can’t get too distracted.

Keith lets Shiro wash his hair. It’s one of his favorite things to do. He turns around in the spray so Shiro can coax his head back to lean against his chest and massage shampoo into his scalp, working it into a lather and filling the shower with the flowery scent of the hotel shampoo.

A soft purr kicks up in Keith’s chest, and it makes Shiro smile and hold him closer. It’s in the running for his favorite of the Galra traits they’ve discovered Keith has.

When they’re done, they’re both relaxed, boneless and a little horny. The bed is looking increasingly appealing, and Shiro nearly flops back down into it and tugs Keith in after him, wanting to wrap them up in the sheets and let the world do what it wishes outside of their cocoon. But Keith dries himself off and pulls on clothes, jeans and a cozy grey sweater, and fixes Shiro with a knowing smirk.

“Well, aren’t you going to show me your city?”

Shiro looks forlornly between the bed and Keith, both soft and warm and waiting expectantly, but Keith wins.

Watching Keith take everything in in a new place is a unique privilege. Shiro’s cheeks are aching from smiling at the way Keith looks around with wide eyes, peering up under the edge of his umbrella as they stroll through the rain-soaked streets. It’s a leftover of the time they’ve spent constantly under threat, needing to be constantly alert and on the lookout, the way Keith observes his environment so thoroughly, by instinct. But right now, Shiro can see that he’s relaxed, searching for potential dangers only subconsciously, and content to absorb the sights and sounds and smells of the world around him.

They walk with hands joined, keeping close. Shiro uses his grip to pull Keith over to a fruit stand to grab some pears for breakfast tomorrow, points excitedly with both their hands to familiar stores and landmarks.

As they make their way to the garden, the rain abates until it’s only the barest drizzle by the time they arrive, and they put their umbrellas away in favor of an unobstructed view.

The garden is beautiful, and Shiro personally thinks it’s best in autumn, with the piercing yellows of the gingko trees, leaves scattered in a carpet all over the ground, the vibrant oranges and deep plums of the maples. Keith appears to agree, looking around as they enter through the iron gates with wonder, mouth hanging open.

“Nice, huh?”

Keith nods wordlessly.

Shiro stays close as they wander through the garden paths, feeling an extra swell of affection. They have the whole place to themselves, everyone else probably scared off by the rain, so they take their time, walking hindered by the fact that Shiro has his arms wrapped close around Keith, who rolls his eyes but blushes and smiles.

The air is crisp and cold, just the way it should be in autumn. The sounds of the city outside the garden walls are muffled, replaced by the rush of wind rustling the trees and the gentle gurgle of running water.

“This is nice,” Keith says as they lean over the dark pond, watching the koi fish dart back and forth under the surface. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Shiro tries to memorize the way Keith looks here, with his lips pink and his cheeks slightly flushed from the cold, his hair a little bit wet, but happy.

He always does this, really, wants every bit of room in his brain to be taken up by images of Keith in all his iterations, but this one feels extra special. It’s important to him, having Keith here.

“Of course. I like showing you all these things. I want…I want to be able to share every part of my life with you.” The admission surprises Shiro himself with its honesty, but when he glances over to Keith he doesn’t look put off or spooked. Instead, his eyes are wide but more with yearning than anything, and a little breath escapes his mouth in a white puff.

“Oh.”

It’s true. Shiro knows what he wants, more than he ever has. Shiro’s ready to wake up to Keith every morning, to have him at his side at every moment. It may still be new, but it just feels right, like it’s always been this way.

Keith doesn’t have the words right now to say more, but he doesn’t have to. Shiro understands from the way he takes Shiro’s arm and pulls it over and around him so he can tuck himself under it, into Shiro’s side, where he fits perfectly, and leads him further down the garden path.

***

_Winter_

Often, Shiro finds himself wondering what he did to deserve Keith.

He wonders why he was chosen by this incredible, beautiful, passionate, complex man. Why he’s being given the privilege of his trust, being allowed to share his bed and his heart.

Lying awake, he watches Keith sleep peacefully. He counts Keith’s breaths as they rise and fall in his stomach, far more comforting than counting sheep. He has a hand resting there, still laced with Keith’s from where he pulled it over and placed it there, because he knows it helps Shiro calm down.

The nightmares aren’t as frequent as they used to be. He doesn’t spend as many tortured nights staring at the ceiling and trying to stop remembering. But when they do come, Keith is there, and he knows exactly what to do.

It took some time, working it out and learning what helped, what Keith could do for him and what he couldn’t. It was hard, the first few times he woke, gasping and in a cold sweat, with Keith jerking awake in a panic and asking what was wrong. It was before they were together, but his heart was already locked in love, and having Keith right there was both a blessing and a curse. Keith had all his trust, but the vulnerability of sharing his darkest moments with the brightest soul he knew was on another level entirely.

Eventually though, through Keith’s careful coaxing, his understanding, the way he kept looking at Shiro with stars in his eyes even after seeing him so low, Shiro was able to open himself up to being cared for, and Keith immediately dedicated himself to learning how best to do that. He’s always had that single-minded focus. 

Keith takes such good care of him. He tries his best to do the same in return.

Tonight wasn’t a bad one. But after Keith rolled into his arms and tucked himself under his chin, stroked down his arms and spoke soothing words in warm puffs of breath into his neck, Shiro found himself unable to fall back asleep. It happens, sometimes. Even once he’s recovered from his nightmare, once his heart has slowed to match itself to Keith’s, beating steadily against his chest, sometimes his mind won’t settle enough to let him sleep.

He doesn’t mind too much, this time – the night is quiet and peaceful, and it gives him an opportunity to observe Keith as he sleeps, take all the time he needs, without Keith blushing and rolling his eyes under too much attention.

It’s just before dawn, enough pale blue light leaking in through the window to cast the bed in gentle light and shadow, playing across the curves of Keith’s body. The curtains are open – they always forget to close them – and he can see too in the early morning light that it’s started snowing. He hopes it accumulates. Maybe he’ll be able to convince Keith to bundle up and go sledding. He thinks about Keith in the snow, cheeks flushed by the cold and the tip of his nose numbed and red, snowflakes caught in his eyelashes and eyes sparkling with mirth.

He reaches out and plays with the ends of Keith’s hair idly. His lips are just barely parted, soft and pink, and his cheek is squished against the pillow adorably. He should let him sleep. Especially after he was up with Shiro earlier. But Shiro’s feeling like he needs his company, his presence, so he scoots closer and lays his chin on Keith’s shoulder.

He’s sleep-warm and soft, and Shiro breaths in his familiar scent.

“It’s snowing,” he whispers in Keith’s ear.

Keith’s a light sleeper, so he stirs immediately and scrunches his nose up, pushing his face into the pillow and groaning. Shiro presses a series of plying kisses to his shoulder. It takes him a minute, but Keith unburies his face from the pillow and opens his eyes just enough to get a look at Shiro, a little bit accusing, but soft.

“How early is it?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. His voice is rough with sleep, and Shiro feels a stroke of guilt, but he can’t help it.

“Mmm, I think it’s like 5:30.” He noses into Keith’s hair, wraps an arm around his shoulders. Keith grunts his displeasure at the early hour, but he must sense that Shiro needs him, because he stills for a moment, just a few more seconds of darkness behind his eyes, before he presses a kiss to the center of Shiro’s chest and pushes himself up.

“Alright,” he says around a yawn, “want to watch the snow?”

Shiro nods, and Keith helps pull him up so they can shuffle over to the edge of the bed facing the window and sit, knees pulled up and sides pressed solidly together.

The snow is coming down harder now, fat chunks of it defying gravity and just floating in meandering paths down through the still air. The first teasing rays of morning sun light the flakes from behind so that they seem to glow. Beside him, Keith lays his head on his shoulder.

They sit together there, in silence, watching the snow fall, until dawn fills the room with bright light and day is upon them. It settles the anxious energy that was left in him, keeping him wide awake. The tightness in his shoulders melts away, his jaw untenses. The war is over, and he has Keith, and he’s so, so lucky. He hears Keith yawning from time to time, but he doesn’t complain, or try to get Shiro to go back to sleep.

Sometimes, Shiro sees Keith as if for the first time, and it takes his breath away.

“I love you,” he tells him. Keith looks at him for a moment like he’s never said that before, like Shiro didn’t say it probably ten times just yesterday. His eyes are wide, and he blinks at him before the surprise softens into something that looks like home. Keith smiles, and leans in to give Shiro a kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll make some coffee.”

Shiro stays in place and watches the snow for a minute longer, listening to the soft pad of Keith’s feet out into the kitchen. Keith isn’t great at making coffee. But Shiro will gladly drink his bad coffee every morning for the rest of his life.

***

_Spring_

Life is sweet, in springtime.

The breeze is gentle and warm, and it sneaks its way under the folds of the loose fabric of Shiro’s shirt to tickle his skin playfully. He takes a deep breath, holds it in his lungs until they ache pleasantly, like a stretch, and then lets it out slowly. The air smells like new flowers and pollen and damp, fertile earth.

He has to squint a little to stare at the sky above him, to watch the cotton-ball clouds amble lazily across its open canvas. There’s one that looks a little bit like a lion to him, and he huffs a soft sound. Letting his head loll to the side, until the grass prickles at his cheek, his eyes seek out Keith to point it out to him.

Keith is only a foot away, lounging in the grass beside him, and as soon as his eyes fall upon the only object of their affection, his intentions scatter to the wind. Keith has an arm thrown across his stomach, full and sated from their picnic, the remnants of which are strewn around them. There’s a hint of a smile in the corners of his lips and the apples of his cheeks, and it makes Shiro smile in return. Without touching, Shiro traces Keith’s profile – down the bridge of his nose, over the swell and dip of his lips – and recalls from memory what it would feel like.

Things are simple, here: The world is kind, and Keith is beautiful, and Shiro’s in love.

His mind lets go of anything else. It isn’t needed. Thoughts can float away like the seeds of dandelion, unimportant where they happen to land.

Keith must feel the warmth of Shiro’s gaze on him, because he turns, lets his head thump onto the grass and looks at Shiro questioningly. His eyes are so big, so round and reflective.

“What?” he asks, only loud enough to be heard over the soft sounds of rustling grass and chirping birds and buzzing bees.

Shiro blinks, mind blank. “I don’t remember,” he admits. Keith’s nose scrunches up and then he lets out a giggle that bursts from his chest. It sounds like church bells.

He’s fuzzy around the edges, a little tipsy from the empty bottle of wine that’s tipped over in the grass next to them. Keith’s lips are reddened with it, and Shiro can’t get his eyes unstuck from them.

An arm flops out into the space between them, palm facing upwards, fingers relaxed and curled.

“Come here.”

Shiro goes, but only part way – he can’t resist teasing first. He rolls himself onto his side, props himself up on his elbow so he can contemplate Keith from above. He rests his hand next to Keith’s, but not quite touching, twirls squeaky strands of grass in his fingers. Slowly, he lets his eyes roll over Keith’s face, peaceful and lovely, and lower, across his neck and the skin above his collar. He reaches up and lets his fingers play at the hollow of Keith’s throat.

Keith pushes out his lower lip in a pout, but his eyelids are still drooping with languid pleasure.

“I love you,” Shiro whispers, because he has to.

Keith smiles, eyes sparkling. “Then kiss me,” he demands.

Happy to oblige, Shiro ducks down and kisses the corner of his lips while his hand finds Keith’s in the grass, lacing together. When he pulls back, Keith turns his head so that their lips meet fully when he dips back in. They’re soft and warm and Keith sighs through it, melting even further into the ground beneath him. He’s too loose and lazy to move many muscles himself, so Shiro indulges him, kissing his mouth open and licking inside, just to taste.

There’s no intent to it, no hurry or necessary destination. Shiro’s just savoring him, sweet and decadent as the cake he can still taste on the back of his teeth. They have all the time in the world, and Shiro luxuriates in it. Luxuriates in _him_.

A gust of breeze flicks a stray strand of Keith’s hair between their lips, and Shiro pulls away with a chuckle. He brushes it aside, follows it down the glossy bumps of Keith’s braid. He takes the ribbon tying the end of it in his fingers, feels its smooth silk and tugs it a little. When his eyes find their way back to Keith’s, he’s staring. Shiro stares back.

The love of his life. The center of his universe. There’s nothing but them here, and it would be the same if they were in a park filled with other happy couples instead of a secluded meadow they have all to themselves. No interruptions.

Keith is playful today, the mood coaxed out of him by the setting, straight out of an impressionist painting, the soothing warmth of the sun, and the love Shiro knows he feels that probably does more to make him giddy than the wine in his belly. He pulls Shiro’s hand up to his mouth and kisses each knuckle in turn, punctuated little smacks.

There’s a ring in Shiro’s pocket. The knowledge makes him smile against Keith’s mouth when he draws their joined hands away to kiss him.

“What?” Keith asks, muffled by his lips.

“Nothing.”

He’s had it for a few weeks. He’s not waiting for anything in particular, no special event planned. It’s just a matter of when the moment strikes him. There’s never been a question that they would end up here. Its small weight is jostled against his thigh, a constant little reminder that he’s going to live happily ever after.

Keith huffs and raises an eyebrow, Shiro sees when he leans up over him, grinning in full now. Keith attempts to lunge up after him, but Shiro knows his tricks by now – he’s grabbed both his wrists before he can, pinning him to the ground. There’s a little growl of frustration, and then they’re off. Keith twists cleverly, just as he distracts Shiro by batting his eyelashes prettily – a dirty trick – and dislodges his grip, quickly pushing Shiro off balance and onto his back with a grunt.

It’s always been a delicate thing, the playful tousling between them. On Shiro’s end, mostly, because there have been so many times he’s had to use his strength and skill to hurt. It leaves a residual fear in him, a hesitancy when sparring and playfighting, afraid that he’ll slip, that somehow he’ll hurt Keith, forget where he is. But it’s fun, and a way of releasing stress when one of them is wound too tight, and after years of practice, Keith knows just where Shiro’s boundaries are.

They roll around, over and under each other, flattening patches of the dewy grass. Breathless little laughs keep getting punched out of Keith as they wrestle, more frequent and desperate. He squeals when Shiro pins him well, throws his weight on top of him – only as much as he knows Keith can take. Keith’s laughing hard enough now that it weakens him, ruins his chances of escape, but he tries anyways, squirming and twisting and trying to wriggle out to the side.

To stop him, Shiro does the first thing that comes to mind and grabs the middle of Keith’s braid to keep his head in place. He doesn’t have the foresight to anticipate Keith immediately going still, melting under him, lips parted and eyes wide and glassy. It’s certainly not an unwanted side effect, though.

Shiro tugs a little bit, just to see the way Keith’s head falls to the side automatically, baring his neck. It makes a pleased sound rumble through Shiro’s chest where it’s pressed close against Keith’s. He can feel the rise and fall of Keith’s rapid breath, the beat of his heart, heightened by the wrestling and now prevented from slowing. It feels good. He likes it.

Before he can show mercy, release Keith’s hair and let him up, Keith bucks up into him pointedly.

Shiro can’t tell if it’s on purpose or an instinctive reaction, but he smirks anyways and holds Keith’s hair tighter.

“Oh?” he teases. He’s expecting a glare, maybe, or an eyeroll, but this must be having more of an effect than he thought, because instead Keith nods, docile and wide-eyed.

“ _Oh_.”

Shiro rolls his hips down into Keith’s, testing.

“That’s it,” he mutters when Keith gives a choked-off little moan.

Shiro can’t help but relish in the fact that Keith’s cheeks are already flushed, that he’s already mostly hard against Shiro’s thigh. He dips in for a kiss and then leans up enough to look side to side, a quick scan of the meadow to make doubly sure they’re alone.

When he comes back, he arches a teasing eyebrow and clucks his tongue disapprovingly.

“You want to do this out here, right in the open? Where anyone could stroll past and see?”

They both know it’s not true; this spot isn’t well known, and it’s unlikely anyone else would come here. If they did, Keith and Shiro would hear them rustling through the woods long before they could see anything. They might scar some poor deer, but that’s about it.

Keith’s bottom lip is abused by his teeth. He nods.

“God,” Shiro mutters, barely gets it out in time for their lips to collide. Shiro eats at Keith’s mouth like he did the meal they shared not long ago, hungry enough to devour, without mind for propriety. Keith doesn’t mind, has always liked when Shiro gets so worked up by him he forgets his manners.

Shiro groans into his mouth from how good it feels – too good. Dangerously good. But nothing’s dangerous with Keith.

He wants to press him into the earth beneath them, see how much it gives. There’s no rush, and Shiro’s feeling like indulging himself, so he kisses Keith slowly, focuses on plucking his bottom lip like a plush bow and pulling him apart with care. Cruelly kind.

“Shiro,” Keith whines as soon as he’s given the room to breathe, just for a moment before Shiro’s on him again. It takes him a minute to figure out what Keith is dissatisfied with, but the answer comes when a hand grabs at his ass through his thin slacks and claws it towards him, lithe hips wriggling to get further underneath him.

He makes a pleased noise against Keith’s kiss-plumped lips and acquiesces, moving himself over fully on top of Keith and pushing between his legs, spreading them enough with his hips that they can slot together. When he lays his weight back down on Keith’s body and gives him a good grind in this new position, there’s a quiet gasp – not the usual, pleasured kind, but something different that makes Shiro peer up from where he’s moved to sucking berry-pink bruises into the skin of Keith’s throat.

Keith is staring down at him, mouth still open on the tail end of his gasp. Shiro frowns, confused. Keith doesn’t look upset, though, or hurt, so he rests his chin in the hollow of Keith’s throat and watches as his face changes. His eyebrows are drawn together slightly – so distinctive, those eyebrows, something Shiro has always loved about him, one of the things he’s always noted when he’s wishing he were an artist so he could sketch all the fine details of Keith’s face.

There’s something uncertain hovering in the wetness in his eyes, a question, a dare to hope. The hand woven in the short strands of Shiro’s hair releases and slides down his neck to his shoulder, hesitating there. Slowly, haltingly, it creeps down Shiro’s chest and the space between them, working its way downwards, tentative. Shiro still hasn’t caught on, so he merely lets Keith travel whatever path he’s on.

When he gets to the waistband of Shiro’s pants, his eyebrows jump up and for a moment, an excited spark lights in him. But that’s not it. Keith’s breath has grown shaky now, and before Shiro can get too worried, fingertips are playing at the edge of his pocket.

“Oh.” It’s a whisper, punched out of him. Keith’s eyes grow wider, if that’s possible.

“What-?”

Shiro knows what he must feel, pressed between their hips. Keith is searching his eyes, desperate. Shiro nods his permission. His heart is beating hummingbird-fast in his chest and he holds his breath, unsure whether to settle on fear or soaring excitement.

Keith’s hand wriggles into his pocket – small enough to fit – and his fingers close around the metal band they find there.

There’s a long moment where they’re frozen like that. Shiro can’t discern a reaction from Keith yet – only shock. He doesn’t question what Keith’s answer will be, not really. But he waits with baited breath. Keith feels the ring, strokes its smooth surface with the tip of his index finger and turns it around in his fingers before he’s even taken it out of Shiro’s pocket to look at it.

“Are you sure?” Keith whispers. It sounds like he doesn’t mean to say it, like Shiro should pretend he didn’t hear, but it’s so ridiculous a question that it shocks a laugh out of him. A smiles spreads across his face and his whole abdomen fills with warmth. The laugh in his stomach jostles against Keith, and he shakes his head with disbelief, because it’s so impossible, the idea of Shiro being anything other than completely sure.

He takes Keith’s cheeks in both his hands, kisses him three times in succession on the lips, and noses into his cheek when he’s done, still breathless and chuckling. Someone’s pumped pure helium into his chest, he’s sure of it, and he’s liable to float away at any moment.

“Of course I’m sure. Keith, of course.”

Thankfully, Keith’s not offended by his laughter. His whole expression changes, melting into something soft and sweet and so, so beautiful. He’s blushing as deep as Shiro’s ever seen him, and there’s a smile that grows so slow it must be real, and the look in his eyes couldn’t be described as anything other than hopelessly in love. Shiro’s sure he looks the same.

“ _Oh,_ ” Keith breathes.

Finally, he draws his hand back, keeping his fingers clamped around the ring as he pulls it out like he’s afraid it might disappear. He brings it up to his face, in the little space between them, to examine it. He looks at it like it’s more than a pretty ring – and it is. It’s a promise, a future, a looking glass straight into countless sunsets and toothpaste-flavored kisses and matching rocking chairs.

It’s not something either of them ever thought they would get to have.

Shiro slips his metal hand from Keith’s cheek and brings it to close around his hand, delicately enough to leave a wildflower uncrumpled. Carefully, he plucks the ring from Keith’s grasp, only so he can smooth a thumb into Keith’s palm, making his fingers splay out reflexively, and then slip it onto his ring finger.

“ _Shiro._ ”

“Mmm. Perfect fit.” Shiro kisses his palm, each of his fingers.

When he looks back to Keith, he looks like he’s about to come undone, like Shiro’s performed a miracle right in front of him.

“Is that a yes, then?” he asks, teasingly.

Keith narrows his eyes, tries to pull a face but can’t; he’s too overwhelmed with happiness.

“You didn’t actually _ask_ anything,” he points out. Shiro huffs a fond chuckle.

He leans in, close enough to feel the heat of Keith’s lips but not be touching them, and fixes his gaze to Keith’s. “Will you marry me?”

There’s a gasp pulled through Keith’s parted lips, sharp and still almost surprised, even when he knew what Shiro was going to ask him, like actually hearing the words is something different entirely. His eyes are glassy, wide and wet.

“ _Yes._ ”

They crash together, both surging towards each other at the same time. Shiro’s heart is soaring, feels like it might take flight and leave him altogether. Keith is holding him so close, and there’s a wetness against Shiro’s cheek; he’s not sure who it belongs to, but he just kisses Keith harder. He hopes he can feel every bit of the love threatening to overwhelm him, the love that he knows without a doubt will last a lifetime. More than a lifetime.

There’s a ring on Keith’s finger, and everything is right.

Keith is moving beneath him, and for a moment he tries to lift off of him, thinking that’s what he wants, but Keith wraps around him and holds on tight, a noise of protest in his throat. He strains up against him and there’s a need in his movements and the way he bites at Shiro’s lips that tells him just what to do.

Maybe it’s not surprising that love and commitment would get them even more worked up than before.

There’s a frantic energy to the way they rock against each other now, trying to press ever closer, like the feelings in their chests are too big to be contained. Keith’s heels scramble against the earth, probably digging divots into it, and his fingers pull at the fabric of Shiro’s shirt. There’s little art to it, just pressure and friction and the warmth of their bodies, the way they’ve learned to fit together in perfect harmony.

Shiro’s lips don’t leave Keith’s – can’t, won’t, so he makes do with the burning in his lungs until they’re both tumbling over the edge together. His vision whites out behind his eyelids, and he registers Keith coming too from the way he gasps into Shiro’s mouth and jerks sharply underneath him.

Their lips catch against each other, wet with spit and sticking together as they come down, panting. Their hands are laced together, pressed into the grass, and Shiro can feel Keith’s ring against his fingers. He kisses Keith’s cheek sloppily, mouths at his neck just to get one more taste of him.

As soon as he can gather himself, Shiro moves to roll off of Keith, to give him some room to breathe, but Keith keeps him where he is. Sometimes he gets like that, wanting Shiro’s weight on him, a reassurance, grounding. So Shiro stays, as long as Keith wants him to. They’ll have to clean up, eventually, or they’ll get sticky and uncomfortable. But for now, all practical matters are on hold.

The rest of the world bleeds back in slowly, unobtrusive and gentle. The breeze is nice against the sheen of sweat they’ve built up. Shiro feels the sun on the back of his neck. He could stay here for a long, long time.

While he waits for Keith to catch his breath, he turns to examine their intertwined hands, turns them around to see the way the sun glints off of the ring. It’s a good sight. One he could get used to.

“So when do you want to have the wedding?” Shiro asks idly, still entranced by the way his ring sits on Keith’s elegant hand.

Keith hums, tries to shrug where his shoulders are pinned under Shiro’s chest. “Eh, next week maybe?”

“Next week?!” He has to reel back at that, to get a look at Keith’s face and see if he’s joking.

Keith just blinks at him like he doesn’t understand the reaction.

“Yeah. Why not?”

Shiro finds he doesn’t have a good answer to that. He feels like there must be one, but his mind is coming up empty. Huh.

It’s a question that can wait. He puts it aside for now, though the idea has planted a seed that’s already putting butterflies in the pit of his stomach, and he doesn’t think it’ll be dislodged too easily. But now isn’t for planning. Now is for breathing this moment in.

He flops back down and shuffles so that he can rest his head on Keith’s chest. There’s a hand stroking in his hair, and he plays with Keith’s other fingers, not ready to leave them alone just yet.

It’s a giddy feeling, knowing that he’s never going to have to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! You can find me on twitter [@sweetfirewrites](https://twitter.com/sweetfirewrites)


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